


Cops and Mobbers

by decorus



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bisexual Peter Parker, Everyone Needs A Hug, Flashbacks, Humor, M/M, Pansexual Wade Wilson, Peter Parker Acts Like a Spider, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Wade Wilson, This Is STUPID, Wade Wilson Breaking the Fourth Wall, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, Wade Wilson is a Good Bro, also miles loses his mind o n c e, also tombstone comes outta nowhere in here, the white spider does it again but this time he's rich
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-03 02:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16317194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decorus/pseuds/decorus
Summary: Reminder: Never marry a mob boss with the intention to get you outed, while you do the same exact thing.





	1. Chasers

**Author's Note:**

> listen i got this from a tumblr prompt that i found on my twitter, and i was like "this is the greatest idea ever" don't sue me original poster but i have no idea who you are

_Is this it?_ _  
_ _  
_ _The one thing that he was totally not even interested in?_ _  
_ _  
_ _Hell yeah, it was. Whoever put Wilson onto this case was horrible enough to do it with a personal vendetta._ _  
_ _  
_ _Oh yeah, it was Davis._  
  
\----  
  
The new chief in command--wow, this title was actually pretty cool. In a weird way, Wade enjoyed the new position very conveniently. In a way, at least he didn't need a partner or anything else to actually help him this time.  
  
"I possibly needed a partner that one day--oh, hello! Nice to, well, see your eyes, reader. You may be wondering: how the hell did someone like me get this top position? Wade Wilson? Me? At the top of the police force? Well, I'm not trying to go into the whole thing, but here's another snippet of a flashback."  
  
\----  
  
_"So, uh--Captain Davis? What am I supposed to be doing again?"_ _  
_ _  
_ _Jefferson almost face-palmed with that question that was asked at least five different times.  How could this cop not remember anything?_ _  
_ _  
_ _"You're supposed to be stopping a mob boss--the Spider. Y'know, the big man underground that basically controls most of the criminal activity here."_ _  
_ _  
_ _Wade had, yet again, tilted his head._ _  
_ _  
_ _"The 'Web of Mystery'?"_ _  
_ _  
_ _Blink._ _  
_ _  
_ _"The 'Kingpin of Arachnids'?"_ _  
_ _  
_ _B l i n k._ _  
_ _  
_ _". . .'Hot guy with a fur coat'?"_ _  
_ _  
_ _"Holy sh--shoot, that one?!"_ _  
_ _  
_ _It was Jefferson's turn to blink now. "Uh. . .yeah.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _"I've got this, Captain--you don't have to worry about anything!"_ _  
_ _  
_ _"You won't get sidetracked again, right, Wilson?," Jefferson said with a raised brow. The many times he got sidetracked, he almost got kicked off the force._ _  
_ _  
_ _"Yeah, yeah! I won't! I promise!"_  
  
\----  
  
"And by sidetracked, I mean that I married the damn guy. What else was I gonna do, I fell in love with him--."  
  
"Who'd you fall in love with?," the observant son of the Captain, Miles, looks over to the older cop with the most confused look on his face. He was almost gonna ask _who was he talking to_ , but he let that question slide.  
  
"The sky--you're still here, kid?"

"Yeah. Still waiting for my dad, per usual."

 “Why?”

“Isn’t he your Captain? And who did you fall in love with?”

“None of your business, kid,” Wade simply responded, combing his fingers through his hair in an attempt to try and make it look better. “It’ll be better if you don’t know. It’s a secret.”

If Miles had to guess this, the man possibly may have fallen in love with that one barista at that cafè (which was a totally wrong answer), but it was a plausible guess. “Alright then, Mister Chief that has his legs propped up on his desk.”

Wade quickly placed his legs on the floor, and went back to reading those documents.  “So, kid, why are you waiting on your dad?”

“We’re celebrating the capture of one of the Spider’s main sub-leaders. He’s supposed to be some kind of anarchist? I don’t remember the _exact_ name though.”

“You mean the one that likes arson?”

“Same thing.”

“. . .Mark Allan?” 

“Yeah.”

Okay, that’s true; Mark Allan was a completely crazy person when it came to arson.

Wade sighed, getting up when the Captain walked into the office. “Hey, Cap--.”

“Wilson, you can go home, y’know,” Jefferson stated, raising a brow in mid-confusion. “Why do you have Mark Allan’s documents?”

“Just reading ‘em. Your son’s bold.”

Miles smiles with triumph (this kid is too bold for everything), and Jefferson chuckled at that. “Yeah, yeah. . .it’s been a slow day. Nothing’s come up from any sides yet.”

 _Thank god,_ Wilson thought to himself, giving back the documents to Jefferson. “Alright--well, I guess I’ll see you later--and Miles, don’t question people like an interrogator, alright?”

“Alright, I get it Mr. Wilson--don’t do anything you wouldn’t do, and don’t anything I won’t do. There’s a grey area in there, and that’s where everyone operates,” he said as he walked along with his dad (not before waving to Wade, of course).

And yes, Wade waved back.

\---

Living in an estate is going to kill his back. Wade didn’t like the elevators, so he always took the stairs to the grand palace of the room. His husband always bositered about how the elevators had the coolest trinkets in them, but he protested to that.

Elevators are scary as hell. Besides, the stairs looked more appealing.

Noting the number of the room, Wade took the keys out of his pocket and opened the door, slowly yet surely so no can see who’s inside.

He could hear noises. . .very stressed, but tired noises. So, just to make sure it was him, he said this, sort of as a signal:

“Hey, hon. Stressed as usual. What about you?”

All Wade could see was a figure rolling off of the leather couch. That was him.

 

In about a second, the semi-smaller man appeared, stretching his arms as if he was asleep for about a whole year (in Wade’s case, it’s known as hibernation for the wicked) and rubbing his face.

 

And the second he appeared, he got a closer view of him--the mob boss that was lurking around the streets of the impatient city that never sleeps. 

“Tired.”

And his husband was none other than the “Spider”--

 

\--the highly intelligent and boisterous,

 

Peter Benjamin Parker.

 


	2. Downlooker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Spider webs up something troublesome (and his husband sort of does something stupid) just to get a faithful reward.

Yaaaaaawn.

Yawning, yawning, and yawning was all they did after Wade came into the room--and stretching was included. Peter stated that this would help him keep in shape (even though Wade already had the abs he was looking for), and it still made him tired.

“How was your day? Did you do anything interesting and-slash-or affiliated with your mob work?”

“I always do work with the mob, but your fellow policemen arrested Mark. Kinda out of bounds,” Peter responded, stopping his little stretches of all things and placing a hand on Wade’s cheek. “But, I’m willing to forgive you.”

Well, that made Wade smile.

“You wanna take one of my guys in exchange, Parker?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because that’ll be too suspicious. Havin’ one arrested, and then another sighted as a kidnaping? No.”

That wouldn’t work so well, so Wade shrugged at that. “So, mad lad, what should we do?”

If Peter Parker ever smirks at you with the widest grin of all time, this probably means that he wouldn’t do anything good for the hell of it.

This was _exactly_ the mischievous grin that scared everyone in New York.

He loved that smart-ass grin.

“Leave it to the boss. Don’t tell anyone what I’m about to do, though. Okay?”

“Alright, Master Planner. What's your little plan?"

And to discussing the cop and the boss went. Listen up, kids: never marry a mob boss who's going to fail purposefully, just like you are, in order to _almost_ get caught.

\----

_**BOOM!** _

If you hear a building that collapses right after a heist, you might as well turn the other direction. At least that's the case in Brooklyn. 

Which is exactly what's going on at this early morning.

The Spider doesn't even usually bite until later on in the night, but this was certainly new either way. Everyone that was a hostage in that tech lab will remember this day as of right now. 

The mercenaries of the Spider were surrounding him in a circle of protection from the outside world (and the many onlookers), as well as being armed with a proportionate amount of guns. 

And so were Jefferson's men, but they were behind their stupid cars instead. With a small " _tsk"_ of disappointment, the Spider merely threw the cigarette onto the ground and stepped on it. 

Time to speak now, instead of holding his peace forever.

"You're late again, Davis. Tell me, why are you always so late for a Captain of the NYPD, huh?"

"Actually, I still have you right on cue, Spider. Tell your men to discard their guns, and we'll let you off easily."

Ugh. Is it always like this with Jefferson? Hell yeah, it is.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, the man's mercs simply dropped their guns and anything else out of the ordinary. "You're letting me off  _again_? You're stupid, one, and so is your late arrival--."

"I'm here! I'm here for the convenience of the plot!," Wade yelled, running up riiight to the action (Peter's response to that was to face-palm at his man's stupidity). "Now what's this about a late arrival?"

" _You're_ the late arrival, Chief. Just wanted you to know."

"Shut up, you poser!"

" _Poser_? ** _Poser?_** Seriously?," the boss replied to the little exchange, the opposite of a loving grin right on his face. It seemed, what's the word?

Oh yeah, twisted.

"Why don't I tell  _them_ about  _you,_ Wilson? Maybe then, they'll know the  _real_ poser by far."

 _DAMN PETER CAN I HAVE ONE BREAK WHERE YOU DON'T DO THIS?,_ the mad-cop thought to himself. How was his own  _husband_ gonna do that to him?! 

The police were getting skeptical, so Wade had the worst idea of all time. With a single shout and the roll of a small little thing, all he said was--.

"SMOKE GRENADE--."

Remember when John Mulaney was talking about this guy at some party who had a 40, smashed it onto the ground and yelled "SCATTER"?

Every single person, police or mob, ran in different directions.

It was like that scene in Ratatouille where the mice just ran in different directions, except Peter just saved himself and ran back to his car instead.

Plan to steal all that equipment from that lab? Successful for the mob.

Stopping the Spider in his itsy-bitsy little tracks? Not so much for the police.

Wade couldn't have been happier to fail (and get scolded yet again by the Captain).

\----

The drive to the estate was a good one. After confusing many different cops and the mob itself, Wade felt like he finally accomplished something right yet again. 

No one knowing that he was married to Peter was a good sign, and after all, he  _almost_ got away with outing him to the whole entire police force. Wade, yet again, stepped into the room with all of the secretive time on his hands.

"Peeeetteeeee, you got away with your crazy little evidence--."

"And you threw a smoke bomb at us. I thought you'd throw tear gas instead," Peter said with a small chuckle, placing a kiss on Wade's lips (y'all know Wade kissed back with the same sort of passion).

Peter drew away from him, the most expensive bottle of whatever he was holding (an assortment of wine) in his hand. "I thought we could celebrate to that, anyways."

"To you winning?"

"No--to you losing."

Okay, the both of them had to laugh at that. That was a pathetic loss, but hey, if Peter's happy to win, Wade's happy. 

"But are we really gonna celebrate with expensive wine? Really, Parker?"

"What? Live life to the fullest, am I right? We're drinking to that."

"That sounds good, you maniac--," and this is why Wade should never have ideas, 'cause he already had an arm wrapped around Peter's middle. "And how about we do something else  _besides_ drinking?"

"I guess we can~. . ."

And just like the day, the night was good, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 137 hits in just a day???
> 
> b Ro
> 
> also the hostages arent dead they're still alive pete doesn't k i l l innocent people


	3. Chillers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, never let anyone make plans, especially Peter.

_Damn, Earth, why do you need to be so close to the sun?,_ Wade thought to himself as the sun came through the blinds. The night was eventful (as always), and Wade’s headache through all of the wine and scotch had become way too real.

 

Good thing that he had the day off, though. And who else would he spend it with other than Peter?

 

Yes, he was currently holding the man in his arms as he was sleeping. Let Wade live.

But, Wade was awake anyway, further closing the blinds from the window and, already up for the morning, kissed Peter’s cheek with hungover sweetness.

 

“Hey, sweets--,” Wade’s tired voice cooed in his husband’s ear , and he pecked the same ear over and over just to wake him up. “How many days off does a police guy get with a day off with his mob husband?”

 

“. . .What?,” Peter said with the most tiredness in his voice, still cuddling up in Wade’s arms. “That doesn’t make any sense, Wade. . .”

 

“I know it doesn’t to you, but it makes total sense to me.”

Wade, with his cheerful self, moved away from his spot on the bed, his fingers that were intertwined with Peter’s very own slipping out of his grasp. “Breakfast?”

“Sure. . .you’ve already got me up anyways.”

 

Yet again, this made Wade smile.

 

"Y'know that I can't cook, right?"

"I was already aware, Wilson. You burn everything you touch."

 ---

The powercouple, although very smart and very straightforward with each other with everything they worked with, did not even know how to cook either way. That's actually the worst thing, because even though they know how to work guns, they don't even know how to cook.

It doesn't add up.

So, they decided to go to the one diner that they can't even remember the name of, and ate breakfast together. Perfectly enough, it was a good way to start the one day off. 

"What's with you and all this cop work?," Peter asked without a care in the world as he twirled around his fork. "It's like you have to catch criminals all of the time."

"It's like you have to go and do your work all the time, too," Wade spoke back, stuffing his mouth with pancakes. "Youf haf it easief than me."

"Say that again?"

Wade swallowed.

"You have it easier than me, at least."

"Since  _when_ did I have it easier? The Metro is clearly busy with all of its underground shenanigans."

"But _you_ control those shenanigans, don't you?"

Does Wade always have a point? Yes. He clearly won that when Peter placed his fork back onto the plate. "Fair enough. But, don't think your job is stressing you out?"

"Nah. Being a chief is pretty chill. Being in charge, having to watch and. .  .not get into the action, and most importantly. . .sit in your office."

It was Wade's turn to place the fork down (and sigh). "It's just--when did it all become so boring, y'know? I used to go everywhere--and now I go nowhere."

"I agree with you on that. Normally, we would've come up with lots of crimes, like yesterday, but now it's slow. If only. . ."

Peter's "thoughtful idea" face came back, and Wade scowled. He already  _knows_ what happens with that small little grin anyway. "Don't you  _dare_ do what you're going to do next," Wade said, his voice slightly terrified, but still sounding disappointed.

"Yep."

With that, Peter got up, being stopped by the waitress before he even walked out of the door. "Excuse me, but you didn't pay."

"The money's on the table, sweetheart. Trust me, it's alot."

And it was exactly $1,000, courtesy to Peter's very own richness (the hugest bill Peter has ever payed in his life--and maybe the second tip he's placed for every single member).

\---

"Why are we in an alleyway?"

"For the little plan that I came up with in my head. Have some faith in your husband, Wade."

Maybe this plan shouldn't have included guns, but it may have included guns from the beginning. Peter spinned that gold-plated gun in his hand, that same little grin morphing into a twisted smile. "Wanna do a shootout for our next big plan? I already know what to do."

Wade huffed before he pulled out his own gun. Yeah, this wasn't gonna work in the slightest. ". . .Do we shoot each other?"

"No. We miss each other, like this--."

Peter immediately fired at the brick wall, and Wade ducked the bullet. "Don't hit the other person, alright?"

". . .Gotcha."

Wade took a breath, and aimed his gun steadily, right above Peter's shoulder--and shot.

. . .The bullet's entry hole did not show up on the wall. Instead, it showed up right through his shoulder.  _Peter's_ very own goddamn shoulder. 

Heh, no wonder Parker yelled in pain.

". . .H-Hey, hon--are you oka--"

"Does it  _look_ like I'm okay?! You fucking  _SHOT_ ME!"

"I WASN'T LISTENING!"

". . . _HOW???_ I JUST EXPLAINED  ** _EVERYTHING_**."

Fourty-five minutes of yelling at each other were wasted on words.

Peter's making his own wound bleed out even more with his constant angry movements, and Wade tried to placed his hands on his back so he could help him, but he immediately got denied. " _No._ Don't even  _try_ to help me."

Guess he won't try and make-out with him tonight afterall.

A series of apologies rang out as they left the alleyway, and even more arguing ensued after. But the trouble would get even more intense, as the main onlooker (and many others) just stared in immense surprise.

"What the hell was that."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEEK 3 GIVE IT UP FOR WEEK 3


	4. Onlooker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Said onlooker's eyes need to be checked for contacts.

If this kid wanted to get up for school, he needed a good reason as to why.

However, since it was the weekend, he was already up this whole entire time, moving around in his rolling chair and sorting out most of his room in the process.

Miles was already tired from all the band practice last night. Is this why he should have never became a keytar-playing, sound-mixing, has an actually good singing voice, DJ?

(He liked doing it, so--).

Even more so, he had a handful of music books being stuffed in his bag, another book being held in his mouth, the same old headphones on his ears, and the CDs right behind him. Man, mixing the sounds for his own song (titled " ** _Catalog_** ") was a workout.

"Miles!"

Oh yeah, and his parents were basically waiting for him to get up, anyway.

"Yeah?," he said, taking the last book and placing it in the bag. "What's up?"

"Aren't you going to that thing with your band? Do you want me to drive you there?"

"It's fine, Dad, I'll walk--."

And his mom's voice rung through. "It's far away from here! One of us can take you!"

"I'll hitch a ride in a cab, it's okay--."

"What about Gwen?"

"Remember last time when Gwen drove, Rio? She practically destroyed her car  _and_ put Miles in danger!"

"Dad, she's sixteen," Miles said, peeking his head out the door of his room, "she has a permit. Maybe she needs to restudy--also, that accident wasn't her fault--the guy came in first and hit the hood of her car."

Yeah, Gwen had her moments, but that wasn't her fault in the slightest. Miles remembered that, anyway. It was  _alot._

"Still, I don't even know if she improved over in that time," Jefferson said with slight regret. "She's insane, Miles. Why do you and everyone else hang out with her, anyway?"

"She's not insane, she's cool--and a rebel, at best."

Miles was sure about it. Almost heading out, the teen grabs one more thing (his phone), before being stopped in the door's opening by his mom. 

"Miles, just--be careful. You know about the whole gangs in the streets nowadays. Watch your surroudings, call us if you need us, and please don't get in trouble."

"I know Mom, I know."

"I love you, Miles," Rio responded, kissing his cheek with that motherly love. "Yeah, I know, Mom."

He shouldn't have responded with that, because he  _was_ about to go, but then he heard his dad's megaphone go off, and the strange part about that was it was his Mom that turned it on.

"You've gotta say I love you back."

"Mom, not you too!"

"Mom, I love you--."

"Look at this place--everyone's looking, and you want me to say it?!"

"Mom, I love you."

Miles gave up yet again.

"Mom. . .I love you."

"That's a copy. Bye, son!"

He'll always suffer like this until the end of time, won't he?

\---

Miles had finally escaped from that whole "love you" argument with his Mom (why'd she do it too, he doesn't know either way), and he was on his way, listening to his musical tracks of old and techno. The first thing he would do is go check out one of his spray-painted tags, all doused up with very warm colors. 

This one didn't have a title, nor would it be erased like last time. So, the kid whipped out a can of paint and decided to draw the biggest "MILES" to the side.

Back to walking he went, humming the lyrics to a song, before he made it (in about 20 minutes) to that building of band familiarity. And, to his surprise, he was hoisted up by the bassist of the group.

"Sup, M?," the girl said, wavering him around on her shoulders before placing him down. "Gwen's coming up. She was busy with some work."

"Thanks, Glory--wait, where's your bass?"

"At the shop. Some loser broke it. Had to get it checked out by the shop. What about you? Did you lose your keytar?"

Shit, he probably did. Great--.

"Uh. . .hey, there's Gwen!," Miles tried to stall (surprisingly, she was actually right there). "Hey, Gwen. How's the work--."

"Save it, Miles--did you paint that tag?"

". . .Yeah."

"You got arrested for that, Morales."

". . .Sorry."

"S'cool, M. What are we waiting for? We need to practice!"

This was gonna be long, anyways.

\---

Two hours of band practice later, and Miles was already tired of moving his hands and belting out his vocal chords for ten different songs. Tuckered out, the teen said goodbye to his bandmates before wandering off to the diner--.

Huh. Apparently, the majority of the diner's staff were shredding. . .dollar bills? Didn't they usually get paid less than the average person? So, why were they throwing around money?

Miles just shook his head before walking in, being greeted by a waitress. "Hi--."

"Hello, dear! Guess what? Some guy just tipped us a thousand!"

Damn, Miles needed to work for this place. "A  _thousand_ dollars? How? What was his occasion?"

"I dunno, he just came in with some cop and left this stack here! It's awesome! What did you want? It's all on us!"

All he wanted was a sandwich and that was it. A thousand dollars. . .? Who has that much money?

\---

This day just got a bit weird. A whole diner getting a thousand  _each_ was strange enough. That was on Miles's mind for a good moment. . .

Until the next thing showed up out of the blue. 

A gunshot near an alleyway activated that long-awakened flight response, and Miles ducked behind a car. Still trying to get a glimpse of who shot it, he lifted his head, primary to see something interesting: a guy with some blue and red fur coat was exiting the alley with. . .Wade Wilson?

Did he see this right? Was that some sort of mob boss with  _the_ Wade Wilson, with the cop apologizing to the wounded boss and getting denied every second.

This onlooker needs to be checked for contacts.

Miles just stared at the ground for the whole way home, as well as staring at the floor and the ceiling.

No questions were asked by his parents on that Sunday evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> miLes the inTerrogator


	5. Interrogator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles had to suspect Wade, anyway. Fifteen points to the house of Morales.

Did Miles just witness with his own two eyes the worst thing ever?

 

Yes.

 

Why was that stupid person of a chief  _ helping  _ the mob boss who got shot? Furthermore,  _ why  _ was he  _ apologizing  _ for shooting him? None of that made sense to his mind!

Miles was in a thinking pose for the helm of first period on Monday, looking confused and still thinking about the possible answers to that.

 

Gwen did a double take before poking him on the shoulder. “Hey, dude. What’s with the whole “thinking like a statue’ pose?”

 

“It’s nothing--I’m just thinking about something important.”

 

“Like what? The test you have for next period?”

 

“. . .Yeah.”

Right--he was studying for that anyway. He has to remember that--great, he’s back to thinking about it  _ again _ ! So, remember when Wade said “don’t interrogate people” to Miles in that first chapter?

It’s time to interrogate Wade anyway.

. . .After this test, of course.

 

\----

 

Miles just might throw the entire police force away at this rate. Whatever the heck Mr. Wilson was up to, it was not gonna work.  _ Nothing  _ will let him let go of what he saw today.

 

Except Wilson, sitting across from him at a diner table. 

 

“So, kid--what did you want to talk abou--.”

 

“The thing.”

 

“What? What thing?,” Wade’s response was sort of too quick as he took some fries and stuffed them into his mouth. Such a way to avoid a conversation.

 

“The  _ thing.  _ You  _ helped  _ someone in particular today.”

 

Wade stopped his chewing fit and swallowed before looking back to Miles. What was this kid on about this time?

“What did we agree on about the whole interrogation thing, Morales? That it was--.”

 

“You helped the mob boss, didn’t you?”

 

And that is when Wade started choking on his soda--.  _ How  _ did Miles even know about this? Furthermore, how did he even  _ see  _ him?! They were going over the plan in an alleyway all the way in the back (and where he didn’t even mean to shoot Peter, which may cost him later).

 

“Wh--what mob boss? What--what are you on about?  _ My  _ boss?”

 

Miles’s expression did not change.

 

“ _Your_ boss is my dad. I’m talking about the guy you helped after you _shot_ him.”

 

If Wade was sweating bullets, then shoot him down. He was sweating fast bullets. Man, this kid is so perceptive.

 

“C-C’mon! Why would I help a mob boss, Miles? I mean, really, we all know that I’m on the right side of the law--a-and I am not affiliated with any mob associations or anything of the Spider, at best.”

_Oh, he's working with him, huh?_

Miles just blinked and, surprisingly, said this all in Spanish.

“ _ ¿En serio? Justo contarme el la verdad. _ ”

 

“What?”

 

“Tell me the truth. _Are_ you working with him?”

 

“. . .N-no?”

 

Miles drew back a little, sipping from the cup. Once again, he placed it down. “Fine. Then I guess I’ll tell the whole force that you’ve been interfering with crimes against New York. Maybe  _ then  _ they’ll all know the truth, huh?”

 

_ Damn this kid _ , Wade thought before sighing and practically giving up.

 

“. . .Fine. But you don’t need to keep calling him the Spider. His name is Peter.”

 

“. . .Okay. What about it?”

 

The cop did a double take, just to see if anyone was listening to him. Then he did it again. Closely, yet surely so no one could hear them, Wade whispered to the teen’s ear.

 

“He’s my. . .husband.”

 

“He’s your WHAT--.”

 

“Keep your voice down, kid!”

 

The whole diner possibly heard that loud “WHAT” that was emitted from Miles, anyway. 

 

Both of them drew back, and Miles? Well, he was stuck in the most shocked and confused pose of his life. “You. . .you  _ married  _ him?”

 

Wade simply nodded at that.

 

“. . .When did  _ that _ happen?”

 

“Six years ago. . .”

 

“Six years--why didn’t you tell anyone after  _ six years _ ?!”

"It was a secret!"

"Well, now it's not a secret anymore!," Miles snapped back, slouching back into the booth's leather seats. Wade has officially lost his goddamn mind, especially in this chapter, Miles thought to himself. "Six years. . ."

"Miles--listen, I didn't want you to know that, or anyone else for that matter. It was between us," Wade said, rubbing his neck in the most awkwardest way. "In order for you to be quiet, what do you want me to do?"

Well, asking for five different vinyls wouldn't satisfy Miles, so instead he asked something else.

". . .Take me to him."

" _Miles--_ "

"Do it, or else I'll spill."

**_This damn kid!,_** Wade thought yet again. Damn, he couldn't refuse it. There was no way for him to, anyway.

". . .Fine."

\---

Another hour drive to the estate, this time with a fifteen year-old, asking questions that were frequently asked in movies to the forty-three year old. A walk later, and he  _still_ asked questions.

A door opening later, and he heard a very loud gasp from said teen. Yep, the richness of the place kills. 

Miles just stared, while Wade did the thing yet again. "Hey, hon. We have a visitor--."

"What kind of person brings another cop buddy to the room, and yes, I'm still mad at you for shooting me--."

Peter stared at Miles, and Miles smiled yet again in that cocky smile of opportunity. No God can save them now from Jefferson's kid that he's seen in a cop car before.

". . .Wade?"

"Yeah?"

"God help us."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE ARE HALFWAY THERE  
> WE'RE HALFWAY THERE


	6. Troublemaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also known as breaking bones and tabs and trying to stop Wilson Fisk.  
>  Also known as: drama takes in the hugest overdrive ever.
> 
> And also known as Miles getting into trouble with some guy on a motorcycle.

_ God help us, _ is what the boss was thinking about the whole time as he paced the floor in earnest godforsaken pissed-off ness. “Wade, can I talk to you--? I totally forgot that the bullet in my wound is still here,” Peter said, dragging the cop away from the kid in the quickest way possible.

 

“Why in the everlasting fuck is Davis’s  _ son _ here? You know how much you’ve told me about this kid and him trying to get into everyone’s business!”

 

“Pete, this kid has info about many different things, such as Fisk. He can  _ help  _ us for a while, even at that whole entire gala tonight--and you know how much Fisk hates his parties being crashed.”

 

“I can hear you two.”

 

Have y’all ever heard two grown men screaming? It sounds awful.

 

“Fisk? You mean the guy that’s trying to take your place and rule New York? Sounds about stupid,” Miles retorted, noting the strange black costume that was right on the table. “. . .This is yours--?”

 

Peter did the quickest turn and immediately rushed to grab it from Miles’s grasp. “Yes, and it’s  _ not  _ yours, so don’t touch it--.”

 

“Nevermind, there’s more of ‘em in this box!

I like the other black one--lots of red, too. The rest look weird enough--,” one suit after the other, ”Why does this one have a hint of orange,” and another, ”Okay, this one has dark red in it--”, and another, “This one has lots of white--,” and another, “What’s up with the red and blue--”

 

“Put those down--.”

 

“Wait--is this a  _ grappling hook _ ? How much money do you have?!”

 

“That’s none of your business!”

 

“Considering you tipped everyone at the diner a thousand each, it sort of is my business now, as well as your own husband’s sprouting of the whole “six year” thing.”

 

Miles moved away, and finally started to reason with these two. “Listen, I can totally help you two in exchange for one of the costumes in the box. Infiltrating Fisk,possibly beating him up, getting him arrested, and that sort of junk, while people won’t know who you are! It’s perfect!”

 

“No.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Cause you’re a kid.”

“And being a kid means what? I’m 16.”

 

“Okay, you  _ definitely  _ aren’t coming.”

 

“Damn it! Okay, but I promise you that I can do this! I’ve got it! I  _ know  _ I can do this!”

 

“You’re a loose cannon, kid,” the boss said with lots of rigor and malice that it struck Miles with a bit of backlash. “Listen, Miles--I understand that you want to help, but--you can’t do this. What would happen to you?”

 

“. . .Nothing. Listen, I know that I can help. I’ll just go with you guys and stop him. I want to help--just give me a chance.

.  . .And maybe dress up in one of these, too.”

 

“It’s a no,” Peter said again with a sigh, “you aren’t even old enough.”

 

Miles pouted (but nevertheless snuck the costume anyways). “Fine, fine--wait. Can I at least stay here? It looks comfy.”

 

“Yeah, you can!,” Wade said before getting punched right in the arm by no one other than Pete himself. “Listen hotcakes, he can stay as long as he doesn’t sneak out! It’ll be one more problem off your back, Petey, I know that!”

 

Peter examined Miles for a mere moment before sighing in defeat. Oh no. “. . .Fine, you can stay, Miles. But don’t touch anything!,” he said before grabbing Wade’s hand and pulling him right through the now pushed open door.

 

_ Thank god, they’re gone,  _ Miles stated before looking at the costume that he took. The black was strikingly darker and less blue than Parker’s, and yet the symbol on it was similar in comparison--only it was red instead of white.

 

Good thing that Miles has a hefty load of spray paint (and brushes for actual painting, of course).

 

\----

 

_ I should’ve never done this,  _ the kid stated as he was halfway up on one of the many Brooklyn buildings. Taking sectals and a set of grappling hooks, he had made his way through traffic and other sides of towers and rooftops.

 

All he did was observe, the mask pulled up at least to his hair so he could get a better look at the ground. Huh, to him, the streets were glittered with people that were like ants. This  _ was  _ stressful to him, but it was calming--.

 

Unless you called for a guy that was speeding through the road, anyway. Miles sighed before he pulled down the mask and practically jumped off the building, using the hook to latch on to--

 

A bus. Great.

 

Once he got down, Miles had to stop himself from flying any further, and the biker clearly saw his mistake. The man rammed right into the bus, using some form of claws to try and hit him, but Miles quickly and surely crawled his way through the other side.

 

Jumping from a streetlight, Miles alternated between hook and quick parkour in order to pass whatever this guy was trying to do. The cycle that he was on went upon walls, and he jumped right off of it in order to leap at the teen, claws first.

 

Miles jumped off the current car, and, using the hook, latched onto a taller building.  _ Here goes nothing,  _ he thought before running through the street quickly. . .

 

And in a fit of strength, he lept, swinging his way up into the air.

 

And back to alternating he went. Man, he’ll never sneak out of his house ever again.

 

\---

 

Another building that he was on was very well lit, the inside holding diverse patrons of a fancier kind. Miles climbed, reaching a room in which it was empty, and practically kicked the glass in (yes, this did hurt him in response). 

 

This was probably Fisk’s place. . .

 

“Finally,” he said in relief, “I’m in. . .a janitor’s closet. Nothing fancy is in here--.”

 

He took that second sentence back as he found a suit and a bowtie right on one of the hooks. 

Very quickly, he placed everything over the costume before taking a breath and going right out.

 

Time to get this party of infiltration started!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof i forgot on twitter i drew the suits for this au
> 
> youll find em on @hxllerdxvid

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment cause that would be appreciated or leave a kudo if ya liked it dont be s h y


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